Pause and Thicken
by Stupid Kid 04 and Blah
Summary: Nickcentric ... MM ... Nick is pulled back into an unhealthy relationship, which only adds to the stress of racing to find a killer who is eluding the whole team, capturing lives then ripping them away. WIP


Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the programs' characters. No profit, blah, blah, blah

This is slash… If it makes you cringe and want to curl up or yell, turn away now.

Warnings: Domestic abuse, and some graphic descriptions... and some pretty bad writing in need of a beta.

-

Nick sighed heavily and leaned against the front door to his house, turning the lock and pressing against the grooved wood. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to fall into his bed and sleep until shift started in ten hours. Sleep was a sweet relief from the grueling night shift; relaxing and unassuming.

Removing his shoes, and placing them alongside two other sets, he stepped out of the entrance hall and turned off into the hall and toward his room. He stopped briefly in his room to grab a clean pair of sweatpants, stumbling once over a pair of jeans hastily discarded sometime in the last two days, cursing, and then headed to the bathroom.

The room itself was wide, and held a shiny new glass shower, and a deep tub, a matching sink and toilet completing the look.

Nick enjoyed his new home, recently bought off the market following the run-in with his stalker, Nigel Crane. The place was composed of large rooms with tall ceilings, devoid of any habitable attic, which of course didn't stop him from checking it for creepy little men every two or so weeks.

Shedding his work cloths, and neatly folding them and placing them on the floor by the tightly shut and locked bathroom door, Nick turned to the shower taps, turning them so a blast of hot, but manageable water poured forth. Stepping back, and allowing the room to heat and be filled with a thick shroud of steam, Nick caught a glimpse of himself in the brightly lit mirror.

He liked having lots of lights in the house. It made everything look lighter, and larger, filling out the rooms and exposing the corners.

A smile crept out, and he admired the muscle mass that he had built, which was covered in bronzed and healthy skin. No bruises. No cuts. No welts. A clean canvas if not for a few scars.

Satisfied, and feeling he had delayed long enough, Nick opened the door to his standalone shower, and pulling the glass closed behind him, stepped under the spray. The water washed away the grime from the crime scene and relaxed his tense shoulders; running down his bare back, rear quarters, and legs, wetting flesh along the way. A large dollop of shampoo and conditioner later he was feeling much cleaner, and reached for the liquid soap, cleaning thoroughly. Enjoying the hot water and inhaling the clean smells for a few minutes more, Nick turned off the shower and reached for his towel, wrapping it around his waist.

Dripping, and flushed the Texan stepped out and onto the thick rug in front of the sink and mirror, wiping the reflective surface. The brown eyes that stared back at him were foreign, and made him smile. They were sparkling and happy, sated.

Brushing his teeth and hair, and getting into his sweats, Nick picked up his old cloths and wandered down the hall, feet slapping gently against the hardwood flooring, to his room. About halfway there he noticed it.

Something was wrong.

Nick noticed it the moment he saw the door to his room. He'd left it wide open, and the sun had been shining in from the East facing window, bathing the whole room in a white early morning light.

Barely an inch remained in between the door and the jam now, and it was eerily dark. A familiar smell of smoke lingered in the air, and Nick was confused, a spike of fear catching him in the chest. Turning, and fully intending on getting to his backup gun he kept in the living room, he took in everything around him.

The hall was clear, the floor still mark-free. Ahead and to the right the entrance hall was clear, looking just as he had left it, and from what he could see of the living room it was devoid of anything unusual. Turning and checking behind him, Nick walked swiftly toward the compartment just passed the entrance hall, and a foot shy of the entrance to the kitchen. Tugging it open, he shifted through the papers, and lifted off the stack that he kept the gun under. Where he expected to feel the cold and familiar metal under his palm he felt nothing.

A shot of panic raced up and down Nick's spine, sending a warning to his fight-or-flight response.

"Looking for this?"

He spun so hard and so fast that his eyes took a moment to focus, back pressed to the wall, and ready to confront whatever he was faced with.

Fear.

Pure, uninhibited fear ran his blood cold. Goosebumps rose on his arms and across his bare chest, and he attempted to press himself further against the wall, shifting to the left and toward the door.

He could feel the adrenalin pumping through his veins, dilating blood vessels, increasing the strength and number of heart beats, shutting down his digestive actions… dilating his irises.

"Man, what are you doin' here?" He looked around for a moment, and then asked, "How did you get in?" He inched further toward to door.

"You really don't wanna do that, Nick. I don't really feel like having to chase you down, and you don't want to disturb your new neighbors, now do you? I mean, you're new in the area, right?" A slick and threatening tone stopped any movement Nick had been planning to make, catching the breath in his chest. He felt like a small animal cornered in a small space, and suddenly the room that he'd loved for its expanse and bright disposition seemed far too small. The person grasping his gun was walking forward, arms loosely held at his sides as if there was no weapon at all involved. He was a predator.

"Right?" Breath brushed over his lips, the voice sharp and gravelly, demanding an answer.

Finding his voice, Nick cleared his throat, staring at a picture of a Verdin he'd spotted in the Lake Mead area. Seeing it calmed him, and he found the courage to look up into hard blue eyes. "W-what are you doing here?" He repeated, losing the initial fervor.

Cringing at the anger that flashed in the other man who was now standing uncomfortably close, Nick jumped a bit at a harsh laugh. "Did you really think I was just going to up and leave?" A strong and stubble covered jaw was level with his eyes, and the fear that he felt earlier increased at the tight smile that pulled at thin and cracked lips.

Dropping his head from staring at the lower face a few inches from his own, partially to hide the emotions playing through his eyes, and to escape the horrid smell of sour smoke that brushed passed his face with every breath the other took, Nick didn't answer. He could feel the now cool water from his shower that had clung to his hair dripping down his neck, following the lines of his body between and over hard muscles to ultimately be stopped by the waistband of his pants. Patches of now wet material were darker than the rest of the gray, and Nick focused on those spots instead.

"You did, didn't you?" A burst of unbelieving laughter broke the air, bouncing coldly around the room. "You…"

Rough calloused fingers brushed over Nick's cheek, before imbedding in brunette strands and yanking back, forcing Nick to meet his attackers eyes once again. A sharp gasp of intake sounded from the smaller man's mouth, his lips trembling, and eyes pleading for none of this to be true.

Stepping fully against Nick's body, already tightly pushed against the wall, the man held his grip on Nick's hair and with his other hand ran the gun lightly against taunt and trembling exposed skin.

Nick couldn't find the power in himself to protest, and instead stood and took the caress that left a trail of disgust, a feeling he usually was assaulted with when entering a crime scene. Except this was happening to him, making him want to scream and cry, fight and flail. But he knew better. It would only get him hurt. He wasn't the one with the gun, after all.

The face of the man pressing against him darted in, and for a moment Nick was sure that he was about to be assaulted by lips, but the man drew a deep breath in through his nose, a sniffing sound following the motion. Up and down his neck, behind his ear. He was being scented.

A loud groan sounded in his ear, the force of its expulsion, sending foul smelling breath across his face again, almost causing him to gag.

"God, you smell good." Another deep inhalation. "I love it when you're all clean for me."

Shuddering deeply, and tensing, Nick could only press his lips together tightly, thinking, 'Yeah, I bet,' before he was roughly pulled into a messy kiss. Dry skin caught on the soft planes of his own smooth ones, and a tongue attempted to push past into his mouth, running over his teeth. Wrenching his face to the side, and panting under the stress of the unwanted kiss and the weight pressing in on his chest, Nick glared up. He wanted desperately to wipe the slime from his lips, but his hands were still pinned, useless.

Wriggling against the tight clutches, and jumping when a hand played with the top of his sweats, Nick once again found his voice. "What do you want?" He hoped his glare was as threatening as it felt, but for some reason Nick doubted it did any good.

Another mocking laugh. "You know exactly what I want, Nicky." Hips pressed forward, and Nick wasn't surprised to feel a hard bulge against his hip.

"Y-you left." The Texan hated the tremor in his voice, and cursed it.

The hand slipped barely an inch under the material of his pants, grazing along the skin of his hip. "And now I'm back." A soft kiss brushed across Nick's lips. "I won't leave you again, promise."

Nick suddenly felt weak. He could never fight words like those, his heart bursting in hope. It was difficult, but he sighed and shook his head. "You said that last time. You've been gone for six _months_."

Nick felt more than saw the strong muscles tense, and anger slipped into the blue eyes narrowed at him. "What are you getting at? You want me to leave?"

Nick let out another sigh. "I don't know, Josh, okay?"

The man, Josh, threw his head back and let out a short burst of sarcastic laughter. "You're not sure? The great Nick Stokes doesn't know something? Last I heard you've been an overconfident little bitch at work. Think you know so much, think you have all the answers." He leaned in, lips settling and moving against Nick's ear. "Let me tell you something, Nicky my boy…"

Nick felt a pit fall in his stomach, and a tight vice close at his throat.

"You know _nothing_," said in a whisper. "But you don't need me to tell you that, now do you?"

Tears pricked at Nick's eyes, filling them and wetting his lashes, and he looked away, focusing again on the picture of the Verdin.

His face was grasped roughly, and swiveled to look into demanding and stony eyes. "You're precious boss lets you know all the time. You can't even do anything right at work. Bet he regrets hiring you." Nick knew the man was searching his eyes and taking in all of the hurt, feeding on it.

With the last of his energy he halfheartedly protested. "You're wrong. You don't know me, not anymore."

Smiling, and leaning closer in, Josh said, "No, _you're_ wrong. I know you _very_ well. I know how no matter what you do it's never enough. You'll never be anything but a CSI wannabe." Just like he'd called Greg once. He wished he'd never said it now.

With those words swirling in his mind, Nick was pulled back to a time when he and Grissom had been working on a case, and he'd been so excited to tell his boss the newly found information. It hadn't gone anywhere as well as he had hoped.

­_"Are you looking for work?"_

"_I just-"_

"_The sign says 'Do Not Enter', Nick. You can't read anymore? You're blind? What?"_

"_Grissom, this is important!"_

"This is important! Sometimes in interrogations, Nick, you get one chance, one answer. And while I'm out here screwing around with you he's in there thinking up an answer that he didn't have before you walked in!"

Grissom had been so _angry_ with him, and even though he'd not stayed that way for too long, the words still cut deeply, even after all this time. It was a reminder of all the things he did wrong by following his instincts instead of thinking it through like Grissom would have. And Gris didn't get into the situations he did.

So lost in his thoughts, Nick didn't notice when the tall body moved back slightly, and the hand pulled from his side. He did notice, however, when a hand grasped his face, pulling his eyes into yet another deep gaze.

"You know I'm not lying Nick, I would never lie to you. I love you."

Looking down, and swallowing convulsively, he tried to ignore the watering in his mouth, and the cramping in his throat, but he couldn't.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Nick mumbled out as he pushed gently against the hard chest before him, feeling a pricking in his eyes.

A single tear ran down Nick's face silently as the body pressing him to the wall gave way to his push, and he was given a wide berth. The other man's words circled like vultures in his mind, picking away at the sense of self-worth and confidence he'd built. All the pretenses gone, and the little things that he'd ignored glared him in the face. It was like those pretty rose tints he'd placed over the world shuttered and disappeared.

All that was left was a dull gray that consumed and pilfered, and with a shuddering sob Nick stumbled away from the wall that he had unknowingly settled all his weight on for support, pushing past the smugly smiling figure, and dashing down the hall.

A great heaving retch overcame him just as he reached the toilet, spilling forth a rush of bile and what was left of dinner. It took four heaves, the last two dry, before he was under control again, and tears were pouring uncontrollably. His chest hurt, and his stomach clenched painfully, and he unconsciously curled inward.

A thin acidic taste lingered in Nick's mouth as he sat back, trying to move away from the stench that burned his nose. Swallowing, and trying to ignore the tight, scratchy feel of his throat, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Spewing when faced with an overwhelming rush of emotion and self-depreciation didn't surprise him as much as it should have. 'God, how fuckin' pathetic," his mind burst out without warning, and Nick bit his cheek.

Emotions tightened his chest, and the dimness surrounding him wasn't from the lighting. A pressure built and pushed inward around his head, dull and numbing.

He never wanted to believe the things he was told, but under all the denial was a stirring of horror. What if all of the things were true? What if he was pretending his way through life? Josh was always right. He saw pieces of Nick that he missed. 'He sees all the dirt… all the filth.' Saw the errors and the mistakes. Saw right through him.

The tension in his skull increased, and Nick thought briefly that if it continued in this way, that his brains would have to burst from the fissures of his skull. It reminded him of a decomposing corpse, the brain having liquefied and starting to drip from the ears and bubble from the mouth. Gooey and disgusting, a fisting ground for bacteria, the flesh rotting from the bone.

Yet another burst of nausea had him lurching forward in a heave, a thin yellow string of stomach content joining the rest. It landed with a sharp 'slap', and caused ripples to move the mass of semi-digested rice.

It was fascinating how similar his puke looked to the masses of maggots that writhe together on a body after a few days of rotting. His ears clouded with the remembered sound of the tiny bugs moving, the sound of crackling seeming to press inward as if trying to bodily push into his head through his ears.

Images assaulted his mind, and the bond squeezing his head increased. With a groan he leaned back again, reaching forward and flushing the toilet. It all went down in a swirl of yellow covered maggots and sticky goop, but the sensation of invaders crawling into his ear canals persisted.

There was a coil of _something_ loosening in his chest, and as it unwound everything it touched groaned and ached. It was the same feeling he got every time he saw a victim, a dead child. And for a moment he almost mistook it for self-pity, but he'd been there before, and this was closer to self-_hate_. He shouldn't let this man take the reigns so easily. He shouldn't give in under the pressure of simple words. But they weren't simple.

He was slumping toward the floor, the cold of the tiles sinking into his skin, when he felt hands come up under his arms, lifting. Comforted by the contact, but weary, Nick went with the movement.

"I'm sorry baby," the other man whispered. "I know you don't like facing the truth like this. But you don't want to lie to yourself, do you?" Strong arms pulled him close in a type of comforting grasp that felt more possessive than anything.

"God, I'm sorry Josh. Please don't leave again." Nick wanted to take the words back the second he said them. 'I should tell him to leave; these last few months have been _so_ good. I've been happy.' It was true, he had been happy for the last half a year, but he also had a blinding need for contact, for a relationship.

"I won't. I'm right here." And if Nick's face hadn't been pressed into the shoulder of the taller man, he might have seen the cruel smile that graced Josh's face. Might have let things go differently.

But he didn't.

Nick was so caught in his thoughts that he didn't quite realize he was being lead through the house and to his room. Didn't notice that the hands were back on his waistband until his pants were pulled down fully, and he was left exposed.

He gasped at the motion, arching up, allowing the pants to be fully removed.

The darkness of the room bothered him, and for a moment he thought to open the blinds again, but suddenly a mouth was on his chest, nipping its way down, and the thought disappeared from his mind. Sighing, he relaxed his body and let himself feel the touch, and closed his eyes, focusing on the gentle movements, and hoped they stayed that way. He didn't know what he'd do if they changed, got more demanding, painful.

He supposed he wouldn't do anything. He was used to it after all, and what more did he expect to get? He was lucky to have someone who loved him, who came back to him.

-

Nick rolled over, conscious of the arm that pinned him to the mattress, and slid slowly out of bed, careful to drop the arm as gently as possible.

Padding across the room, and out the door, he entered the bathroom, his heart beating heavily in his chest. He was glad he made it without waking the other man. Waking Josh was like poking a very large, and very temperamental animal… With lots of sharp teeth.

A giggle bubbled out of his mouth, and Nick shoved his fist between his teeth to muffle it. He could just see the man, great big fangs bared and dripping with saliva. The giggle abruptly stopped, and for a moment Nick could only blink in confusion.

Maybe he was going insane, because that image really shouldn't have made him laugh. It never should have come to him at all in the first place. What if Josh found out that he was imagining him as a giant beast, out to rip people limb from limb? 'Man,' he thought, 'I'd be so dead.'

And that scared him. It shouldn't have, after all, who was scared of their own lover? He had never been, not really. Even when Josh was being dominant and rough, he never truly was afraid of the man, because Josh said he _loved_ him, so that meant he did not really mean to hurt him right? It was all just the way Josh was. He was strong and rough, not cruel and violent.

That's what Nick told himself. Problem was, he didn't always believe that.

Flushing the toilet, and washing his hands, Nick walked stiffly out to the kitchen where he put on a pot of coffee. He made sure to set it for extra strong.

He couldn't help but let out a little strangled groan when he settled himself in a chair around the kitchen table. He was well aware of the aches that accompanied a night of passion- 'Is that what it was?' – and he shouldn't have been surprised. Josh was overzealous – 'Domineering?' – and had not held back. And with him being gone for such a period of time…

Nick let his eyes look out of the window into the backyard where he focused on the green expanse of his lawn. It was a nice shade of green, really, considering he lived in a desert.

"What are you doing up?" Nick started, his heart rate increasing. He could feel it pounding in his chest, and throbbing in his throat.

"Uh, I was just making some coffee," he let out in a weak voice. He really shouldn't have been surprised when a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders, and a chin rested upon his head, but he was. It was all he could do not to jump, but then he would have bumped the chin above him, and that wouldn't have been good. It was never good to make Josh angry, especially when he had just come back.

He didn't want the other man to leave so soon… Did he?

"That's good. I could use a cup." The arms tightened around his shoulders. "I love you, baby."

Nick smiled, his chest and his earlier apprehension dropping. "Yeah." It took a minute for him to reply. "I love you, too," he said. But he couldn't ignore the thought that followed, and the second it was there it was gone. He shouldn't doubt things like this, he should let the good things come, and let all past grievances be in the past.

It was so much harder than that, though, and he almost wished he'd caught his wandering mind before it could bring him back to this place, where he always doubted what he knew so very well.

Josh didn't have a reason to lie to him, so when he said 'I love you' he meant it… But the silent 'I think' after each of his own replies did nothing to reassure that thought.

-

Walking into the Crime Lab that night, Nick smiled and waved at all of the familiar faces as he passed them on his way to the locker room.

Warrick was already there when he arrived, sitting on the bench and going through something in a gym bag. Nick paid no attention to it, and walked over to his locker, grinning at Warrick as he spun his combo without looking.

"Whoa, man, get laid last night or something?" Warrick's voice was amused, and a glint caught his eyes as he looked over as Nick, who was fighting down a blush.

"Ah," he started, his voice a bit choked, "somethin' like that…"

Giving the other man a knowing smile, Warrick winked. "So… Who's the lovely lady?"

Nick mentally cringed at the 'lady' part, and silently berated his 'Lady's man' reputation. "Oh, no one you'd know about." He tried to put just enough playful teasing in his voice to make it believable, but the half-second of furrow in the taller man's brows told otherwise.

"Really now?"

"Yeah," he said, turning away from the questioning look in his friends eyes, and grabbed his gear from his locker, getting ready for shift. "So, what did you do last night, man?"

Warrick looked over at him, then away again. "Oh, the usual, watched a game, ordered pizza," he said, no enthusiasm coming out in his words.

Nick, trying to ignore the odd tension that seemed to surround the room, gave a non-committal "Hmm."

The awkward silence didn't end, and before anything else could be said they were walking to the meeting room where they would be handed out assignments.

Lacking the same happiness that had filled him on his way in, Nick sat back and watched as the other members of Graveyard trailed into the room, each giving their own 'hello' before settling down.

When Grissom walked in Nick tensed at the tightness around his supervisor's eyes. Looked like they were going to have a rough night.

-

Nick couldn't help but cringe as he approached the crime scene. The smell of putrescine and cadaverine lingered in the small area, the break down of amino acids and protein hydrolysis having taken over the dead body before him.

Peering over the bloated stomach of the deceased, Nick was greeted with a discolored and blistered face that had once belonged to a man in his early thirties, his brown hair disheveled and threaded with an odd white substance.

"Hey, 'Rick?" He called over his shoulder, keeping his eyes forward, small flashlight fixated on the victims' head.

"Yeah?"

Nick furrowed his brows, saying, "Do you know what's in the Vic's hair?"

Warrick sighed and stood up from where he had been crouching down to examine a footprint, coming up behind Nick from the right. "I don't know. What's it look like?"

Squinting, Nick moved a fraction closer, then blew out a mouthful of air and backing away. "I can't tell. Here," he said, grabbing the camera from around his neck, and snapping a few shots, "I'll take it into trace, see what we can come up with."

Warrick handed Nick an evidence collection bag, nodding. "Yeah."

"So, do you know where Gris is?" Nick's brown eyes trained on Warrick's green ones, holding contact before falling away and back to his vest where he was storing the small paper bag.

Warrick shrugged. "Do we ever know where Gris is when he's not at work?"

Laughing in a short burst, Nick shook his head. "Nope, he's a mystery to me, man."

"Look Nick, about earlier…"

Nick reached out, putting a hand on Warrick's shoulder, stopping any further words. "Don't worry about it, man. We've both had a tough week, it was just the stress showing through."

Looking as though he might not agree, Warrick stared at Nick's back as he crouched down to examine something. "Yeah, okay," he said, but inside he wondered if it wasn't something more. Something about Nick lately had been off, not completely right, and he wanted to know what it was.

"When is Super Dave supposed to show?"

Snapping back to attention, Warrick walked back toward the shoeprint he'd been looking at earlier. "Should be here any minute, last I heard."

"Good," Nick said, "I want to have this guy in autopsy soon, figure out what killed him. Something about this scene isn't right…"

"What do you mean?"

Nick's voice hiccupped slightly as he answered, "There's lots of blood on the floor, but it's not consistent with the injuries. Looks like the Vic was lacerated and bludgeoned multiple times, but there isn't any castoff or spatter on the walls, it's all on the floor… With injuries like this you'd expect to see at least a little blood on the walls, but it's all just pooled around him. Like he was placed here and the blood with him."

Standing, Warrick went over to stand by the shorter man, who was looking around at the gloomy walls around them. "You think this is the secondary scene? That this is just the dump sight?"

Nodding, Nick trailed his light to the dead man's wrist. "See those friction injuries? They look deep, and that means they probably bled plenty, but there isn't any sign of rope or cuffs anywhere, or a specific blood splatter pattern."

"The killer could have taken whatever he used as a souvenir or something."

"Could have, but I don't think so. I think this guy was killed then packaged up and put here." A silence descended in the room as both criminalists took in the large picture of horror and pain, each weighed down by their thoughts.

The quiet was broken most shockingly and Nick couldn't help but back a step away as a squelching sound emitted from the body, and a short burst of liquid sputtered from the man's anus.

"Man, that is just…" Warrick, who had backed away at the same time, made a face and his green eyes squinted.

Nick gave a morbid laugh, saying, "Well, I've never seen that one before."

"Seen what, Nick?"

Nick and Warrick turned around, seeing their supervisor looking at them with one brow raised and kit in hand, his usual stance –bow legged and hovering – slightly off.

"Uh," Nick started, feeling a small rush of color come to his cheeks, "the DB just," he floundered, palms face up, a caught in the act look on his face.

Deciding to help Nick in his explanation, Warrick stepped forward, blurting, "Farted." No matter how it could have been said, it could not have been more undignified, and Warrick held that knowledge with a slight cringe.

Warrick, who could already feel the beginnings of laughter bubbling up his throat, lost all sense of professionalism at the loud snort that escaped Nick. Before either of the CSI's could break any further into laughter, they caught the look in Grissom's eyes and calmed instantly.

Laughing at the expense of a dead man was not what they were here to do.

Luckily, before Nick could allow a moment of shame at Grissom's look of disappointment, Dave walked into the small room with them, waving a hand in front of his nose as he approached. He stopped short of the DB, just looking for a moment then continuing to kneel down in front of the man's head.

"What do you see, Dave?" Nick asked, barely allowing the coroner to throw out a cursory look.

"Looks like the Vic's been here for three or four days from the level of bloating, but I can't be sure. There are so many soft tissue injuries that I can't tell if he bled out or if it was something else. No initial signs of petechial hemorrhages. I can't tell you anything defining right now."

Grissom, who had come to kneel by Dave, nodded. "Warrick, you want to search the premises?"

"Right on it Gris."

When both Dave and Warrick had left back out the door, Nick turned to Grissom, "You thinking anything about this so far?"

Giving Nick a look that he was all too familiar with, Grissom simply said, "We'll see what the evidence says."

Sighing and darting his tongue out to moisten his lips, Nick turned to the body again, then continued to process the scene, mindful of Grissom's eyes falling on his back every once in a while. He wondered why everyone kept giving him that questioning look. Like they were trying to piece together a puzzle that was missing half of the contents.

But he wasn't confusing.

He was just doing what he always did. And for the first time in years he truly wondered if that was what he wanted to do. Did he want to smile to their faces and cry to their backs?

The tension between him and Warrick was already suffocating and had already ripped a hole in their usually easy camaraderie, throwing them back to the unease of working with a stranger. A stranger who knew him very well, and could see through most of the barriers he set.

Nick's eye caught on something in the corner of the room, away from the rest of the scene. It was small, and at first he squinted to see what it was, the lumpy mass unrecognizable. Then it hit him. Flesh. A small chunk of flesh that looked just as rotten, or perhaps a bit more so then the rest of the dead body.

It wouldn't have been seen initially, being away from the rest of the scene, and so small, but now that he could see it, it was in spotlight.

"Grissom," he called tensely, edging closer to the corner, flashlight centered on the object of his attention.

From the other side of the room, looking over at the Texan from a crouched position, Gil raised a brow. "Yes?"

"You should come take a look at this."

Grissom stood a bit stiffly, leaving his fingerprinting equipment behind, and came up to Nick's side, focusing on the lump.

"Gris, man, is that-?" Nick, having moved closer, drew back with a sick look on his face, and a tension in his shoulders.

Nodding, Grissom squinted and took a closer look, unconsciously leaning in.

"Is our DB here missing anything as well?" Both he and Grissom looked to the naked man lying behind them, sprawled provocatively with eyes wide and unblinking. He wasn't hiding anything.

Looking to his right, Gil caught Nick's brown eyes. "Looks like we're looking for another body."

"Sure it's not his?"

Grissom shook his head. "No, not at that level of decomp."

"We've seen weirder. The guy could be freezing the body and not the bits he cuts off."

"But we don't know that." Grissom flashed his light around more, looking deeper into the walls as if he expected an answer to all of his questions, silent and out loud.

"You thinkin' this is a serial?" Nick cast a worried look around, trying to take in all of the detail of the room.

Without a sound, Grissom shifted his weight, pursing his lips and exhaling. "It looks like. Have Dave look at it, then take it into the lab, I want to find this guy before another body shows up."

"Sure, I'll finish baggin' and taggin', then take it all back to the lab, and start processing."

"Good, take Warrick with you when he's finished outside. Sara's on the way now, we'll finish up here. Tell me the second you find anything."

"Yeah," Nick let out in a wisp of breath, grabbing up what was left of his stomach to carry on with processing the scene, and turned his back to the partially decomposed penis and testes.

-

Looking down at the myriad of pictures spread out before him, Nick sighed and rubbed his eyes, wishing he wasn't only 6 hours into shift. Wishing he could pack up and go home to fall into his pleasantly large bed, and let the arms of sleep wrap him in an embrace for as long as possible.

This case was going nowhere. They had all hit a dead end that never seemed to let up.

The John Doe was still a John Doe, and all they knew about a possible suspect was that they had a men's size 12 shoeprint, and that they were severely sadistic. And the shoeprint wasn't even solidly linked to the case.

Sighing once again, Nick gave a frustrated roll of his neck to attempt to ease the tension.

"Hey, Nick?" Warrick looked into the room, a folder in his hands, and an apprehensive crease to his expression. "DNA came back. The remains found in the room? Not a match to the DB."

"So we're looking for another body?" he said out loud, thinking, 'Great,' silently.

"Yeah, looks like."

Looking at a general picture of the scene, its dark gray walls starkly contrasting in the flash of the camera compared to the dead man's body lying in a pool of blood, Nick cocked his head. "I suppose we should start looking for storage compartments smelling of decomp, huh?"

Warrick, with a tiny hint of humor, shrugged. "I guess so, man, but I don't know how that technique will turn out."

Raising a brow at Warrick, Nick chuckled and swiveled his head back and forward. "Not very well."

-

Nick walked out of the crime lab with a cloud of dark emotion trailing him, his eyes red and dry, scratching restlessly against his lids, begging for sleep, or any sort of rest that would help to erase the deep, dark bags that were delved under his eyes.

Driving home was a blur, and he was glad that he was able to maintain enough awareness to make it to his driveway without being involved in any sort of accident.

All but stumbling in through the entrance, Nick sighed with exhaustion, his eyes focused on the ground, taking in the small granules of dirt and material brought in on shoes. He was that tired, that he had resorted to concentrating on the small things that really didn't require much thought.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Nick cringed away from the larger body that loomed over his own, his jacket partially shrugged off and one shoe still on.

"Work ran late, pulled a double," he mumbled, not daring to look up. He managed to remove the other shoe and push it to the side by the other one before two large hands grasped his upper arms with a bruising force.

"Ha," a thin and sarcastic voice cracked in his ear, "you were out with your friends, weren't you? Having too good a time to come and see me, that more like it?"

Not feeling up to an argument, or backing down, Nick lifted his chin and pulled away from the grasp. "I was busy trying to find out what sick bastard has been out on the streets raping and mutilating innocent people, not out socializing, Josh."

He didn't even see it coming until the world disappeared in a sudden flash of mind-numbing pain and darkness.

When his mind was able to focus, Nick was on the floor, stomach down, and his cheek felt like it was going to swell up and burst. His jacket was still halfway off, hanging off of his left shoulder, pulling awkwardly at his back.

'What happened?' He had been talking to someone… Josh, it had been Josh. They had been arguing… Then it all came back. Josh had hit him. Curled his fist in a solid ball and swung. Hard.

"Fuck…" He let the curse slip out, and struggled momentarily to maneuver a hand to push himself up and off of the floor.

When he felt the hands come around his chest to help lift him from the floor he struggled away from the touch, gaining his own feet without help, a desperate fluttering in his heart.

Catching just enough of a semblance of balance to stoop with one hand on the wall and the other cradling his aching cheek, Nick looked at the other man in trepidation. What else would his lover do to him? Hit him again? Harder?

Josh, with his palms facing outward and raised, moved forward even as Nick moved back to be pressed against the wall fully. "I'm sorry baby," he said, his words a curious repeat of what had been said far too many times already.

Shaking his head, Nick looked off to the side, avoiding looking into the apologetic blue orbs staring down at him.

"I'm so sorry, Nicky. I shouldn't have hit you, baby. I was just worried, you know how I get…"

'Oh yeah, I know alright,' Nick thought darkly, eyes still trained anywhere but at Josh's face.

Cupping his hand over Nick's own one to cradle the forming bruise, Josh moved closer to press his torso against Nick's, pulling the smaller man into an embrace. "Please don't be angry. I love you."

The words washed over Nick in a wave of emotion that was caught between fear and relief. Without hesitating any further, he wrapped his arms around the waist before him, leaning his weight into the other man, relieved by the support. He didn't have the strength to do anything more with the stress of the John Doe murder and the body missing its manly pieces; he was drained. It felt like the whole entity that had once surged and filled him with hope and love and eagerness was twisted and drained, dripping all over the floor, then swirling down a drain.

A soft sob tore from his chest, leaving him to lurch forward against the body pulled tightly against him.

"Shh, baby, I got you. I'll make it all better, come on, lets get you to bed," Josh mumbled against Nick's hair, pulling the conflicted young man along with him through the hall and into the bedroom. He stripped the jacket from Nick's shoulders; pulled his shirt free, and tugged open the button to his jeans.

"'M sorry for snapping at you," Nick let out with his eyes lowered to the floor.

The slow process of his undressing slowed to a stop, and Nick looked up as Josh stood, pulling him in for yet another embrace. "It's okay. I shouldn't have hit you like that, though, Nicky." The man sighed, looking down on the smaller man. "I won't do it anymore, I promise."

An empty smile slipped into shape upon his lips, and Nick dropped his chin to rest against his chest as his socks were tugged off one at a time. Below his breath, too quiet for anyone to really hear he exhaled a tiny "Okay." It was always good to reassure his mind. He did it every time this happened.

Naked except for his boxers, Nick sighed in tired relief when he was eased under the familiar covers. He was followed shortly by Josh, who had stripped as well, and took up position spooned against his back, hands coming up to trail along his neck and in his hair.

It was a good while before the tightness in his throat eased, and it took longer than normal for the sharp jabs of pain to stop radiating from his chest every time he breathed too deeply, but Nick was not sure he should be happy when it eventually did. It left him barren and empty.

And with those feelings trapped within him, Nick clenched his jaw and eyes. 'Please,' he prayed to himself, 'just let it all go away… I-I wanna feel good again.'

The man hugging close to his back grasped tighter, shifting minutely, digging his hips into the swell of Nick's bottom, and rubbing his covered groin against the muscles there. It wasn't the first time that the embrace did nothing to comfort him, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last, but Nick relaxed as best he could, and sighed into his pillow.

Exhausted and in need of sleep, his mind spun away from the detail of reality, falling into the darker and duller realm of sleep and unconscious thought, leaving the day and its events to the next waking moment. He wouldn't have to deal with anything else today.

Until the nightmares started. Then it would all start over again in the cycle that was his life.


End file.
